The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1887-07-23
JUBA.
BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS.

The Stoll and Wynn iron rolling mills
stood, in 1862, in the suburbs of large
Virginia town on the Ohio River. They
were built on the bank of creek and
were a cluster of huge sheds, under
which were the glowing furnaces, heaps
of pig iron and soft coal, and hundreds
OF sooty, half naked men at work over the
fires. A gray sky, perpetual showers OF
SCOT, the low, muddy streams creeping
between banks of ashes and Stag, made
up gloomy background for the lives
of these men.
Among them was middle aged negro,
employed in shoveling coal into the furn-
aces. He was kicked about and cursed
for two or three weeks without name
until one summer evening, in his off
hours, he produced banjo and began to
"pick Juba" with such exhilarating shut
fes and jumps and wild yelps of delight
that they dubbed him Juba on the spot.
One touch of fun makes the whole world
kin. The men began to find out that the
poor "dark," as they called him, was anx-
ious as faithful dog to be OF service and
to gain kind look or nod. When it was
given, he went about grinning and whistl-
ing all day long.
Nobody knew who he was. The truth
was that Juba had been one Of party of
twenty slaves who, at the first outbreak
of the war, had escaped from tobacco
plantation in the Piedmont counties and
made their way to the West through the
mountains. Some of them crossed the
river to Ohio; some were shot; some fol-
lowed Rosecrans' army. Juba had no
kinsfolk among them, and they all showed
him off as dead weight. He found his
way to'this town, with his banjo, a frying
pan, and batterd beaver hat which he
had picked up somewhere, and after
hanging about the furnaces for a day or
two, he set to work shoveling coal. There
was q broken down shed outside Of the
works, facing the furnaces. There Juba
made his bed, cooking his meals at the
half-slaked fires. He was comfortable
enough, and, if anybody would notice
him, as happy as any other affectiOnate
animal. As for any soul which he might
have, nobody thought of such thing.
The church going people of the town
never came near the works. The men
tried to find their way to heaven through
the Roman or Methodist churches, or to
the devil through the rum shops. None
of them thought of Jubs as q possible
companion on either road.
II he had any notion of heaven, it was
oddly mixed with something he had once
seen, and which had made strange i'm
preston on his dull brain. He had been
sent one day when he was lad to his
masters house, about two miles distant
from the quarters of the field hands, and,
on reaching the hedge at the back of the
buildings, had looked over it into the
kitchen garden, with its trim flower beds
and gravelled walks. On one side was a
poultry-yard, with fat ducks and white
Poland hens strutting and squabbling,
and on the other the cabins OF the house
servants. Juba stared at these gorgeous
mortals in their parti-colored turbans;
they were blessed black damosels in q
Paradise which he could comprehend.
Beyond was the veranda Of the planters
house, where beautiful child was play
ing with a dog. A white rose climbed
over the roof above her. The setting sun
threw red glow over it all. The air was
full Of the scent Of roses. JubR stared in
silence until he was driven away. He
kept the thing to himself, told nobody Of
it; but after that when old Sam, the
preacher, held forth on the glories OF the
golden shoes and silver robes of the city
with jeweled gates, JUDAS mind instantly
went back to the poultry-yard and the
pretty garden and the child and dog and
roses as a real heaven which touched him
much more nearly.
An odd thing happened to him one day
which brought this old vision back. One
morning he found a crippled dog in the
works, it's flesh burned in patches by the
hot cinders. Surely it was the dog of
the versnda. He took it to his shed.
trembling with excitement, and put it into
his own bed, bringing half the men in the
works to prescribe for it. One brought
him rags. another salve, another, who